1st Auditions Groping Hands

Mirarte

Mirarte is directing my eyes over your shoulder to the door, to the memories.
Hablarte is bite my tongue. Amarte es
hide.

Birthday Invitation From 3yearold

'm an organized person. In the chaos that is my life for months (years? No, perhaps not) there are a few oases. No, no oasis but the wind ropes to grab me. There are idyllic spots, but emergency exits leading to calluses on my hands. M My to-do list and my calendar are my faithful squires, who remember what my memory is not met, alienate me from my busy life.
Tomorrow morning I have a hangover input on the agenda, and nothing can make that appointment is canceled. My plans today have not gone as hoped, so I have to improvise. Such is the nature researcher. I imagined hours ago accompanied by fascinating women, telling the most wicked desires, dreams infinitely sinful, forbidden absolute claims, while nectar distilled our consciences and polished erased our doubts. He dreamed of returning home with their hands stained brick walls in which I supported, knees dirty sidewalks where I stumbled.
I recently discovered that the theory that neurons do not regenerate is wrong, and willing, I took one step forward to prove it. And so I am. A glass pen attached to my 108-key "vomiting while confessions that are translated into ones and zeros and travel the world.
certainly a great unfairness. As much as the technophiles will endeavor to convince us, the rounded corners do not equate the curves of the hips, the brightness of the LCD funeral is not about the hot breath of another person who talks the ear.
Another drink. Three
desperate castaway bottles thrown on the night of Valladolid. No wave brought me an answer.
Another drink.
I look at my agenda. Marked in bold and italic, one day. A date in which everything would change. A moment of which could not escape, where the whole story would end, beginning a second volume or probably be filed in the closet of the beautiful stories of the bitter end. Because only then can pass the pen following paragraphs, new or not but speak of joy.
Another drink. Because
long I'm not happy.
drink.
I'm a good person. I am not ideal friend or lover infallible, nor son nor brother desired perfect. Neither the prince to have all dreamed of in their lives. But I think as bad as not to deserve at least the option to happiness.
drink.
And, for some time, I have vetoed.
drink.
In my paper, a sheet lined with a perfect script. So perfect that history is written, only dialogue. The scenes are clear, glassy eyes on stars, with trains running away in the background. Hands that dodge. Only two possible endings, both beautiful, to be decided by the actors. Is there anything more perfect than tautologically free life, that two souls determine their destination?
drink.
keys melt, its density vanishes as the morning progresses. The sharpness of my monitor is degraded in the same way.
drink.
that script probably never be read, and it is a shame. Never wrote a few sentences as intimate as short a precise questions.
drink.
I cry because it's my only consolation. Some consolation is thrown against a pillow and drown in your own tears, but that's all I have left.

try deleting the entry tomorrow's agenda, but the cursor is elusive. Just finally, do not miss my appointment.

French Song From Nambla

Concerts

• 100430-100501: Festival Do Norte. Photos and chronic Friday and Saturday .
  
• 100513: Festival Palencia Sonora: Arizona Baby. Photos .
• 100514: My Friendly Ghost + Euphoria. Photos and chronic .
• 100515: Hello Everybody. Photos .
• 100521: Alejandra Burgos. Photos .
• 100522: Festival Palencia Sonora. Photos .
• 100528: Luis Ramiro and Marwan. Photos and chronic .
• 100529: Havalina. Photos and chronic .
  

Other

• 100516: Theatre Group Valladolid University: Terror and Poverty in the Third Reich. Photos . 100521
• Theatre Corsair: The Raven. Photos .
• 100525: Festival of Street Theatre and '10. Photos.
• I sold the 40D.
• I looked through teary eyes .
• I pulled a thorn and the wound bled.
  
• puncture a couple of times in La Traviata.
• turned 29.